Childe Harold's Pilgrimage

   What beauties doth Lisboa first unfold! 
   Her image floating on that noble tide,
   Which poets vainly pave with sands of gold,
   But now whereon a thousand keels did ride
   Of mighty strength, since Albion was allied,
   And to the Lusians did her aid afford
   A nation swoll’n with ignorance and pride,
   Who lick, yet loathe, the hand that waves the sword. 
To save them from the wrath of Gaul’s unsparing lord.